6.16.2006

Friday Nostalgia

A big Beverly Hillbillies fan as a child, I made a reference to Jethrine in my poem "A History of the Body," from Karaoke Funeral. The twelve-part poem, which chronicles the journey toward accepting my body (yeah, right), has several generally well-known pop-culture references, as well as a couple of other obscure ones from the 80's. I realized it was risky to include the dated references, but I chose to go ahead. I figured my own peers would "get it" for sure, and the younguns could either consider the context or look it up.

But for today's nostalgia, I'm doing the work. I'm listing said references in order, indicating which section of the poem they occur in. I'll post the poem in its entirety too. Why not? It's my blog.

Fudge Jumbles--an 80's snack phenomenon, puked up in mass by bulimics all over the country.

Thin Mints--Girl Scout Crack

Section 6:Lucy and Ethel--refers to the episode of the 50's I Love Lucy sit-com where Lucy and Ethel work in a chocolate factory and end up cramming chocolates in their mouths because they can't box them fast enough. Dream or nightmare?

Ricky Ricardo--Lucy's hapless hubby.

Section 7:Jethrine--Jethro's super-sized sister, duh. Played by Max Baer, who played Jethro.

Section 8:Venus--Roman name for Greek goddess Aphrodite, born of sea foam and notorious for her affairs with mortal men.

Helen--According to Greek mythology, the most beautiful woman in the world. Caused the Trojan War.

When John left me for a twenty-year-oldsmooth and unlined as new road,the thing I worried about mostwasn’t working at Wal-Mart, or the childrenwho walked around like three clenched fists,but my birth-ravaged body, its stretch markslike tire tracks, the belly split wideand stitched into a leather purse,the sad flattened possums of my breasts.Who’d love me now?

2.

Kathy won’t wear anything but overallsuntil she drops five more pounds,is starting to look like a sack of herself.At the bakery, I’m trying to decide between bagel and sconeas if I were declaring my major. She pinchesthe punched dough of her waist, tells mea bagel counts as three bread exchanges.

3.

In the outdoor amphitheater, musiclike privilege, catered picnics on folding tables,the women look lovelyand thinner in candlelight, at dusk,holding long elegant crystal stems.The line for the restroom is endless as discontent,but there’s one empty stall.Perched above the toilet clogged with vomit,I see red press-on nails scattered on the floor.Judging by the contents floatingin the bowl between my knees—shreds of romaine, whole croutons, chicken,and marzipan—I’d contendsomeone first picked off the nails like petalsso she wouldn’t tear her throat.

4.

Having learned too early ways the female anatomycan accommodate a man, I vowedI’d never grow a woman’s body, stalled pubertywith a diet of Cambridge and canned peachesuntil I was fifteen, until one night, sitting in front of the t.v.with a bowl of dill pickle chips and a fork,I watched “To Kill a Mockingbird.” And as Scout took Boo Radley’s hand in hers,I forgot myself, bled.

5.

Our seventh mile, Kathy and I see the girl again,maybe nineteen, with an I-mean-business-in-any-weather expression, her brisk clipalmost a jog. No matter what time of daywe run, she’s out, like a defiant tongue,lapping the neighborhood, and just as soft,now, as when we first saw her, months ago.We did the same in college—swimming, biking, aerobics and, in-between, quick batches of Fudge Jumbles, Thin Mints.We say it together: “Walking herself fat.”

6.

My birthday coming up fast,I walk around crying, have bad dreams:last night, the conveyor-belt-gone-haywireLucy episode, with Kathy as Ethel.The chocolates had stamped on themall the years left of our lives, speeding by.We had to eat them or lose them forever,and some man out of sight was laughing,Ricky Ricardo, or maybe John.

7.

Beri phones early, wakes me, and I can’t tell if she’s crying or just recovering from a bout of morning sickness. She asks what exerciseI did when I was pregnant, says her kneeslook like bean bags, her husband called her Jethrine.I remember the names, how my bed grew largerthe longer I was with-child, becoming an oceanwhere I floated each night, alone and untouched.I recommend walking, describe some simple calisthenics,then hang up quickly, divining only to the walls,“The man is already shopping.”

8.

Greg’s “old” college buddies are in townfor the weekend—Christy and Sara and Todd.A stream of mail preceded the visit, sexypost cards addressed to “Love Chunk” and “Sweet Buns”that ooze at me from his dresser.They’ve gone out this evening to “catch up,”and five years older than he is, I’m trying hardto be an adult. But I envision Venus and Helen,only younger. I picture a double date—Greg & Christy, Todd & Sara.Or Greg & Sara. All night aloneI do inventory: four lines under my left eye,one new dimple on my ass.

9.

When I was nineteen, I lay on the cool familiarflat of Tom Valley’s bed, having nothing moreto offer, and he with nothing else to gain, when hestated as matter-of-factly as if he’d found a penny,“You have a beautiful body.” Even as I feltnear-perfect for those few unparalleled seconds,in the next my vision cleared: Liar, Flatterer, Idiot.My smell filled the room like leftover pizza. Anchovy.

10.

I love to go to the Clermont,“Atlanta’s oldest gentlemen’s club,”Where dancers never die or retirebut simply grow closer to the groundas they strip on the bar, fondlethe ceiling for balance.Blondie, star of the show, is fifty-two.Patina black skin, permed platinum fallframing the cauldron of her middle,she’s famous for crushing beer cans,five dollars a turn, between her breasts.She packs both hands full of slack flesh and nippleand stretches, pulls them like taffy,before the wreck and aluminum crunch.

11.

I know Greg loves me:He takes ballroom dancing, took my kidsto the fair. And I love him in a waythat is healthier, covered by insurance.but neither he nor my therapist can curethis need to fill the crisper drawerwith perfect peaches and grapefruits.Or that other nightmare, where lifeis one big orgy and they’re about to pick teams.

12.

She has my sister’s blond hair and blue eyes,the same long limbs I always envied.But the tenacious hand that holds her spoon is mine,and my square hips keep her planted.Looking up from the bowl of whipped creamshe calls fruit salad, my daughter asks,“Will I be pretty as you when I grow up?”I take a deep breath: strawberries and sugar.“Baby,” I say, “you are going to be magnificent.”

4 comments:

Kathy
said...

After a weekend of eating my way thru New York City followed by 3 days of meetings with a dessert bar at every meal and NO exercise, my thought last night -- "I wish they still made Cambridge...". I would just use it for a week. I promise.